
Rewrite your nightmare


I’m an immigrant and I’m ok
My mother was Dutch and my dad was Gay
I play on the nerves of the Anglo-sacks
My dad was black Irish and he slept on the coat rack
I’m an immigrant and I am great
I’m so damned intelligent God made me my own mate
I ‘m a doctor in the hospital and I heal the British folk
But they think I’m the devil, so they look out for the smoke
I’m an immigrant, you’re an invader
Daddy was an Eskimo and he got paid in lieu
You came from Normandy and spoke to us in French
But now I am the Judge and I ‘ll order us some lunch
I’m an immigrant and I’m ok
My husband went before me so he tells me the way
He’s a Jew from Teesside and you should hear them speak
I could never understand it as Hebrew’s worse than Greek
I’m an immigrant as I have crossed the Alps
Hannibal made history with his elephants
If he was my grandad, will you export me?
I’d rather have a biscuit and make us all some tea
In my red down jacket, I feel blessed
So light and warm I never knew before
At last, I can be soothed and be relaxed.
In the past, I took too many tests
Heard too much the lion’s angry roar
Now in my gay down jacket, I feel blessed
Though sorrow re-awakened in my breast
And flowed into my inward, private core
At last, I feel that I can better rest
In grief, an awe full rage has filled my chest
Later tears fell like the tsunamis on a shore
But in my best down jacket, I feel blessed
I know my sin and fear not to confess.
But inward guilt is egoistic bore
I hope one day for God’s eternal rest
I have not a judgement to declare
But wish to end the violent civil war
Be true, be free and you can feel you’re blessed
By reproducing love, we are relaxed.
The sky is stark, the air is cool and still The black cat’s run, the birds unfold all day I sit down here and with my totty pray Ye cast o’ foolish thoughts, you raped my will. We’ve each enraged the bureaucratic mill. Oh frigid purse, I never meant to pay! The sky ‘s a-spark, the air is warm and shrill The saturnine demoted knelled their way With this feathered pounce, my sample quill, I cite the cheque and date it for next May. Oh, tit for cat, the tiger’s bed ‘s astray. Yer life is settled by a harlot’s will The sky ‘s a shark, the air is sharper still.
Lacan is hard to understand.
He was a French psychoanalyst
However he discovered it was very beneficial to the patient
If he broke off the session suddenly after a few minutes.
He still charged the full amount
It might have stirred the depressed to anger.
But it might wound others.
Like it might remind them off erratic mothers
Or vanishing fathers
I’d like to see his suicide numbers.
Or maybe,better not!
http://www.bu.edu/writingprogram/journal/issue-9/doomchin/
“Defining Plath
While Plath is traditionally categorized as a confessional poet, critics like Howe and Davison fail to recognize the ekphrastic quality of many of Plath’s poems. As defined by the Oxford English Dictionary, ekphrasis is “a literary device in which a painting, sculpture, or other work of visual art is described in detail.” Each poem in which Plath comments on or discusses a work of visual art can be defined as an ekphrastic poem. Ekphrastic works are interactive and draw clear links between writers and artists. By writing an ekphrastic poem, one enters a pre-existing conversation; one work could not exist without the other. In essence, many of Plath’s works are dependent on works of others, showing her deep veneration for the painters whose works she incorporates in her own.

“Yadwigha, On a Red Couch, Among Lilies,” Plath’s 1958 poem, was written in response to Henri Rousseau’s The Dream, painted forty-eight years prior in 1910. The painting, Rousseau’s last and largest work, places a young nude female reclining on a red sofa in the middle of a lush jungle, full of vibrant foliage and lively animals. According to the Bulletin of the Art Institute of Chicago, “Though the public was thoroughly perplexed, the artists rightly hailed The Dream as one of the milestones of modern art” (“The Henri Rousseau Exhibition,” 20). Plath, in her poem, points to the perplexed reaction of the public, choosing to address Rousseau about his painting by discussing their questions.
Plath responds to the structure of Rousseau’s painting in a compelling way. The painting appears to have a random composition; elephants, lions, birds, monkeys, and other animals seem to be randomly strewn about the canvas, interlaced with overwhelming amounts of greenery and lilies; mysterious snake charmer is shown emerging out from some trees, and the nude figure, Yadwigha, is arbitrarily thrown onto the canvas lounging on a sofa. There is no clear order to how Rousseau arranges things. Additionally, the subject depicted, a nude on a couch in the jungle, is incredibly random and perplexing. However, Plath contrasts this randomness by approaching her poem in a methodical way. She chose to write her poem in sestina form; a sestina is “a poem of six six-line stanzas (with an envoy) in which the line-endings of the first stanza are repeated, but in different order, in the other five” (Oxford English Dictionary). The form is structured, complicated and deliberate. Plath clearly put a lot of thought into how the poem was arranged.
For the sestina’s six line-endings she repeats, Plath picks the painting’s most pertinent images and concepts: “you,” “couch,” “eye,” “moon,” “green,” and “lilies.” “Lilies,” “green,” “couch,” and “moon” are all visuals that stand out in Rousseau’s work. The repetition of the painting’s pertinent images allows the reader to envision the painting through her words and points to her astute attention to detail and respect for the painting. Her use of “you” underlines that this is a poem in which she is talking both to Rousseau and Yadwigha (depending on the stanza) because she wants to interact with both the artist and the subject. “Eye” represents the “eyes” of different aspects of the painting [“under the eye/Of uncaged tigers and a tropical moon,” (4–5), “Dreamed yourself away in the moon’s eye” (28)]; Rousseau’s vision [“But to a friend, in private, Rousseau confessed his eye” (35), “To feed his eye with red” (38)]; and the eyes of critics and museum patrons [“It seems the constant critics wanted you… To turn you luminous, without the eye” (8, 12), “The couch glared out at the prosaic eye” (20)]. This emphasis allows Plath to differentiate between artistic vision and critical response, recognizing that there is merit to both points of view. She notes that art is meant to be created and commented on. Plath features the imperative relationship between artist and critic, taking on the role as critic by writing her poem. In turn, her poem is a piece of art—she is aware that it will be criticized, just as Rousseau’s painting was. This recognition through mentioning critics directly in the work signals a parallel Plath draws between Rousseau and herself, making her connected to the art of the past. She is clearly mindful of “the presence of anyone but herself,” unlike what Howe asserts.”
I wear my heart displayed upon my face. Attentive readers find their meaning there.. Where feelings thought too deep to be embraced Can shine demurely where they do not scare. As Freud observed we're never quite disguised Betrayal is our body's real motif The message comes conspicuous from the eyes.. Bright sparkles or your tears of blackest grief. The answer to a question seemly leaps So Yes or No is visibly revealed. The blush that spreads so fast across the cheeks Both bold and shy unable to conceal. Your face tells me you lied when Love you wrote. Your writing like your love is counterfeit